


A Grande Rescue

by MistyBeethoven



Series: Strange Couchfellows [7]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Bosses, Buses, Cell Phones, Comedy, Gen, High Table, Lip Piercings, Mexican restaurants, Offices, Ringtones, Robin Lord Taylor character, Tongue-in-cheek, Truant Officers, Work, just kind of stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 18:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19138357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: After receiving a phone call, the Administrator leaves work early in order to rescue John Wick.





	A Grande Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> The seventh entry in a diverting and admittedly stupid series.

Sitting at his desk, at the building of his employment, the Administrator knew who it was that was calling him without even having to look at the call display on his cell phone. There was only one person he had ever given the number to.

It was the same person who had also apparently changed his ringtone when he wasn't looking.

The Administrator let it ring several times before it became annoying and he was forced to answer it.

"I told you never to call me here," the High Table bureaucrat hissed into the phone past the piercings in his lip.

"I need your help," John Wick whispered.

"I've told you before there's a diagram on the back of the TV remote telling you how to place the batteries."

"No. It's far worse this time."

The Administrator threw his head back and sighed. He briefly considered tossing his phone out the window but realized the office he was currently in didn't have any.

" _Please_ come and help me."

John Wick rarely ever said please. The man must really be in trouble this time the secret organization's pencil pusher thought.

"Where are you?" the tattooed man asked. His houseguest rolled off an address that seemed vaguely familiar.

"Give me a few minutes," the Administrator reassured the man. "I'll be right there."

"Thank you," Wick said. He sounded relieved and genuinely grateful.

The Administrator put away his cell phone and ran a hand through his slicked back black hair. He tried not to sweat; it would only make his eye shadow run and he needed to look calm and steady for what needed to be done next.

He was about to perform an unenviable task: ask the Adjudicator for time off.

* * *

The Administrator knew that finding a good excuse for leaving work early was going to be extremely difficult.

Rumour had it, his organization hired a truant officer. If they found out you were playing hooky they shot you in the back and sold your body to science to make up for the money you had lost the company.

He could lose his life.

Even worse:

He could lose the key to the executive washrooms.

Workers for the High Table were not known to require sick leave. They more often than not died before they ever reached a hospital. They also were all masochists or sadists; they enjoyed the pain of having to continually work through appendicitis or revelled in spreading the flu around.

They mostly did _not_ have families.

They were mostly all orphans.

They mostly had _no_ social lives whatsoever.

Often the Administrator wondered if they hadn't all been abducted into a cult of some sort.

Walking into the Adjudicator's office, he just prayed that the bullshit he was going to feed the official would be swallowed.

The Adjudicator sat at their desk looking as beautifully handsome as always. They looked up at the man entering their office like he was the last few unpopped kernels at the bottom of a bag of microwavable popcorn.

"What do _you_ want?" they asked.

"I require a few hours leave," the Administrator said. His voice sounded relatively flat. He was doing his best Ben Stein impersonation, trying to seem indifferent.

"Whatever for?"

This was it, the Administrator thought. It was do or die time. He felt his testicles desiring to return to wherever they had been before they had dropped.

"Everyday my email is overloaded with spam from places telling me that I can achieve an erection if I do this one thing for three minutes every morning or that Sally Field has died or I can lose five inches from my waist if I eat this certain vegetable. I just finally found out the name of the son of a bitch who sold my email address to a spam list and I wanna just go and rip the motherfucker's throat out."

There was a brief pause before his boss nodded and handed him a dusty piece of paper to stamp before he left.

Apparently the Adjudicator had an email address too.

The Administrator was feeling pretty smug as he was leaving the room. He was halfway out the door when the Adjudicator stopped him.

"One last thing..." they said.

As calmly as he could, the man in the glasses turned around and looked at his boss.

"You will _not_ be paid for any time spent out of your office," they said.

The Administrator nodded. He could live with that.

* * *

On the bus to the address given, the pencil pusher wondered if he should risk phoning Wick. What if they had taken his phone? What if by calling he endangered the man's life?

He didn't want John Wick to die.

He was too good at killing the cockroaches in the apartment.

As if sensing his thoughts, his cellphone started to ring.

"John!" the Administrator said.

"Hurry!" the assassin gasped. "I can't breath!"

The call ended.

"Shit," the pierced man said returning his phone back inside his vest's pocket. He had visions of his houseguest locked in an airtight room struggling for air.

Suddenly he heard laughter coming from the seat beside him. A fifty year old guy who looked like a former WWF wrestler was trying not to break into a fit of giggles.

" _What_?" the Administrator snapped.

"Nothing," the stranger said. "I just never heard a grown man use the Smurf's theme as their ringtone before."

The Administrator frowned as the man tried to hold back another fit of laughter. The bureaucrat's scowl changed as he realized he could easily help the man instead.

Quickly he socked the human hyena in the jaw.

It was awfully hard to laugh with a fat lip after all.

* * *

Outside the address John Wick had given him, the Administrator soon realized why it had sounded familiar. They had once spent an evening there briefly after their TV set had blown up: it was a Mexican restaurant called The Grande Burrito.

John Wick was being held captive in a Mexican _restaurant_?

The Administrator didn't think about it. He was more worried about gaining entrance to the place. From the sign on the door, it seemed the establishment had closed shortly before the hitman had called him. The lock would have to be jimmied. He just hoped they couldn't afford a decent security alarm. They were the two bit type of business that only had one washroom after all: it was a dangerous decision when you considered the menu.

Taking out one of his lip rings and bending it, the Administrator started to work the lock with it. He smiled in delight when it worked and he creeped inside.

Everything was silent. At first.

As he listened, the bureaucrat eventually heard a faint tapping coming from the direction of the aforementioned washroom.

John Wick was being held captive in a Mexican restaurant's _washroom_?

The Administrator was confused. Usually the only torture that occurred in such places was in regards to digestion.

Still he went on tip toes to the washroom.

" _John_?" he said, pressing his cheek against the washroom door.

" _Yes_ ," came the breathless answer. "Quick! Get me out of here!"

So John was in the john after all.

Once again the Administrator used his lip piercing, vowing to get it replaced when the ordeal was all over.

It worked. The door opened. A horrible smell was unleashed and the one piercingless man gagged and covered his mouth with the back of his tattoo ladened arm.

John Wick was standing there; he was alone and obviously unharmed.

"What the _hell_?" the Administrator asked in confusion.

"It was near closing time. I came in here to wash up and I accidentally locked myself in. Plus there's something really bad in the toilet and it won't flush."

The High Table stamper's mouth hung open in disbelief. "You risked my _life_ just because you locked yourself in the fucking washroom? Why couldn't you get yourself _out_? What's all that talk about the _great_ John Wick? Aren't you the same guy who killed three men with a pencil."

"Yes," Wick said. "I did kill one man with a pencil once but...to be honest... that whole three guys thing...one was called Larry, one was called Moe and the last guy was Curly, I think."

The two men stared at each other for a long second before the Administrator slammed the door shut and headed back to work.

There was a grande difference between the legend and the truth he thought as he heard John Wick desperately trying to flush the toilet behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> I must confess this was inspired by the time I got stuck in my local library's washroom. I was banging on the door until some nice woman went and got a librarian to come help get me out.
> 
> Luckily there wasn't any weird *ahem* item left in the toilet for the duration of my captivity.
> 
> Would the Administrator ask the Adjudicator for time off? Probably not. It would probably be somebody else but I wanted to include them so they are here. My apologies.


End file.
